Some things just aren't done

Precisely today, it is the 463rd birthday of King Henry VIII School in Coventry, England.
The school's rich history was born 23 July, 1545 when jolly old Hank forced some criminal-type bloke of the day to do something positive for society by constructing a place of higher learning (and oh, by the way, since I'm King, I want my name on it).
Suffice to say, building a school is preferable to the gallows.
I mention this because the school's rugby team, on a five-game tour of Nova Scotia and Newfoundland, put a sound thrashing on the Pictou County Junior Rugby Club on Monday night.
Coventry, one of the visiting players told me, is near Birmingham. "'ave you 'eard of Birmingham?" the lad queried.
"Yes," said I. "Iron Maiden's from there. Have you heard of Iron Maiden (the heavy metal band, not the torture device)?"
Alas, he had not. Very sad, today's music scene.
At any rate, the rugby game went in King Henry VIII's favour by a considerable margin, similar to what would likely transpire should a group of ice hockey players from this side of the pond travel overseas for some matches against the Brits.
A hullabaloo broke out near the match's completion - a tad unfortunate - with punches tossed, expectorate spat (or so it was charged) and wife putting hubby in his place at one point (I can't say anything more than that and it's quite possible I've said too much already).
Ever the true sportsmen, players from both sides queued up later for some hamburgers and hot dogs (barbecued, not deep fried) at the home of one of the local players. What happens on the pitch stays on the pitch, as it were.
It was a good learning experience for the local ruggers, and no doubt they shared a few grins with their English counterparts while reminiscing on their match.
While watching the Open golf championship this past week from Royal Birkdale, I noticed that rarely would we hear some drunken lout in the crowd yell out "GET IN THE HOLE!!!" once a tee shot was sent on its way.
This reminded me of a Tiger Woods press conference from some years ago, where he took pains to point out that English golf fans were and are very knowledgeable about the sport.
I could have sworn it was his backhanded way of saying fans over there know how to act around a golf course, while North Americans have yet to fully embrace the concept. If Tiger didn't mean it that way, he certainly should have.
Televised golf tournaments in the U.S. should have a three-drink limit for patrons who stumble around the grounds, some of whom become more and more annoying as the day moves along.
You know the kind: cellphone in hand, somebody from Pennsylvania is talking to their buddy in Boston and saying, "right after Ernie hits this shot, I'm gonna holler like the drunken idiot I am, so be sure to listen for my voice on TV."
At Wimbledon for example, the spectators conduct themselves properly and know when to give due to brilliant play, lending further to the air of dignity at the All-England Club during its fortnight of tradition.
It is the polar opposite of the drunken, brash New Yorkers who sometimes lend an air of madness to proceedings at the U.S. Open every year (although in the case of the U.S. Open, it's a hooliganism that is somewhat reserved and, quite fun I might add).
It is only in soccer (and perhaps not co-incidentally, in U.S. football) that the hooligan fan entrenched in all of us comes bubbling to the surface. Such vile behaviour, really.
I blame all of it on the Irish - and those larcenous scoundrels who cheer for the Pittsburgh Steelers.

Kevin Adshade is sports editor with The News